Always
by AlchemistM
Summary: She was always on his mind; even when he died. Especially when he died. Severus Snape centric. One-sided SS/LE. Re-posted.


_"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"_

He stands there, a part of him knowing that this is the beginning of the end for him, squeezing down the traitorous thoughts that cause his heart to quicken.

He plays the fool; just another mask to add on top of another mask.

Childhood friend of Lily, Headmaster of Hogwarts, killer-of-Dumbledore, evil Death Eater, Order Spy.

What is one more to add to the mix?

_"My lord?"_

These days he barely remembers who he is, with all the parts he plays.

Is he Severus Snape?

No, Severus Snape is long since dead; he died when that filthy word had passed his lips - _mudblood_ - the day when he realized that he had lost the very thing that he held most dear.

What is he now then?

Merely a shell; hatred and bitter and empty and forgotten all wrapped up in one, as always.

But he remembers _her_. He also remembers his mistakes.

He had been lonely though when he was younger, had longed for power, had so whole-heartedly believed that she would want someone who reveled in the Dark Arts.

And in the end, didn't it always came back to her?

They are hollow thoughts he doesn't want to think about here, submerging beneath his many walls of deceit.

He watches as his "lord" raises the Elder Wand, holding it delicately and achingly possessive. He has the fierce desire to snatch it from his hands and snap it; to finally end this.

He is growing tired of it all.

He also hates the way those red eyes gleam in the dim lighting of the room, hates the way his pallid serpentine face twists and transfigures itself into something grotesque and disfigured.

_"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"_

But he doesn't want to think about it, so he doesn't.

In this hellhole so close to him, his mind drifts to her, as it always does. But he does not like waiting, so an answer must be given.

_"My - my Lord?"_ He makes sure the words are blank, after all, right now he is playing the fool, his mind divided between this conversation and flashes of emerald and auburn, dancing eyes and soft lockes of hair, _"I do not understand. You - you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."_

He no longer cares. He knows something is wrong now, maybe he's always known.

_"No, I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand... no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."_

Controlled fury... only a first year Hufflepuff wouldn't be able to recognize it (dunderheads, the lot of them. oh how he hates children), so it was needless to say he does, in fact, see it.

He licks his dry, thin lips and says nothing.

Sparkling green eyes and wide smiles are filling his vision, memories of long ago. He isn't sure he's here anymore.

Severus Snape doesn't really exist, had never_ truly_ existed except near those pretty, pretty green eyes.

Eyes that were the only ones that had ever really saw him for him; _gone_ now.

_"I have thought long and hard, Severus. ...Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"_

And on and on it goes, the fool speaking now, mask firmly in place as he deflects, evades, and stutters his way through the interrogation his ''lord'' had deemed it necessary to put upon him.

He takes it in stride because that is all he has ever done. He knows nothing else.

And when the time comes that the Dark Lord's intentions concerning him are revealed, he feels nothing because he has always suspected it would end this way.

He is to die at the hands of this deranged Halfblood with grandiose views of ruling and blood purity.

He feels as empty as usual, because he isn't Severus Snape. He's never had the chance, and quite frankly, he isn't sure he even wants to be Severus Snape anymore.

What is the point if he has no flower to share himself with?

_"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."_

He protests merely for appearances' sake now, still so very tired, _"My Lord!"_ the words come out feeble, though it could be easily deduced as shock.

_"It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."_

Potter.

The snake's voice rings throughout his shields, and for a second, he forgets his weariness, because it's always about Potter.

Potter. Potter. Potter.

He hates Potter for stealing her away. Hates her son even more for killing her.

Potter. Potter. Potter.

Always Potter.

Never Severus.

He watches, his focus almost entirely on the man he had once so proudly doted upon as he flicks the Elder Wand.

Nothing happens for a moment, and he cannot fathom why he feels relief for a split second, but he does.

However, a second more, and he realizes just what his ''lord'' had set out to do because the snake's cage encases his head and shoulders completely, sharp fangs piercing his neck.

He's dimly aware that he's screaming from the pain, his knees are collapsing and he's falling backwards onto the floor.

He's never felt such pain, such fire spreading from his shoulder making it's downward path to his legs, and he's twitching and crying and screaming like never before. He cannot even think of her the pain is so great, and that is probably what causes his screams to louden, because he's always been able to think of her, even under Cruciatus.

That is what hurts the most.

He does not miss his ''lord's'' parting words either, strangely cold and unremorseful as the night.

_"I regret it."_

The cage is removed from his head and shoulders, and the fangs recede, the snake disappearing with his old ''Master".

And though he is still in pain, he rolls to the side and presses a long thin finger to the marks, his deep red blood oozing out onto the floor.

He does not know why, but a part of him feels relief now even though the fire is still there. Maybe it's because he can finally think of her again. He can remember clearly the first day he saw her.

And this makes him a delirious kind of happy, because she's his world. She's always been his world, even as he lays here, an odd giddiness bursting deep within his chest. Perhaps soon, he'll get to see her face once more.

... This time not in a dream.

He does not know how long he lays there, pressing his fingers to his wound (why he's doing that, not even he knows. something inside is telling him he cannot go yet), but one minute his eyes are losing focus and the next he's seeing Potter.

Oddly enough, he does not feel the familiar hatred just yet, he hasn't the strength to, looking up into those big green eyes. Because all of a sudden, he knows what he has to do; he has to make him understand.

His Vow would let him do nothing less, as knowing would inform Potter of just what he had to do to finally end everything.

There was no time to hate anymore.

_"Take... it... Take... it..."_

A conjured flask from the Granger girl, memories of _her_, of Albus, of himself, of Potter and Black, of all of them pouring out of him. His motivation. His Vow. His sins and faults. All of it, leaking out... His weaknesses. His love. His darkness. ...His light? Does he have such a _thing_?

His grasp tightens, black eyes looking at the silvery strands that are being herded into the bottle by Granger, filling it to the very brim with the very memories that define him.

When it's over, his grip slackens, and he knows it's almost time. Tiredness and emptiness are roaring inside him, battling for possession, and he still hasn't worked up the nerve to look into Potter's... _her_... pity filled eyes. It's the only thing he needs to see before he dies... one last glimpse.

He's scared though, that he's going to see only Potter, as he always has.

The Potter who stole her from him in the first place...

And Potter, the son who killed her...

They were, _are_, both the same, and he knows he is going to die hating them.

He will always hate them, he is sure, because there is no difference between the two of them.

Lazy, arrogant, spoiled rotten to the core...

And they both took her away from him.

It is unjustified, irrational, cold, and cruel... but it feels so very right.

He has never said he is a good person, and maybe he knows on some level that this is an awful way to go, hating her son... But he cannot bring himself to care; he is so close to seeing her... moments away...

_"Look... at... me..."_ he whispers, the urge unbearable now, and is surprised to find the boy complying.

Emerald eyes meet black.

And Severus Snape lives once more...

Even as he dies.

_Lily..._

* * *

"I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter-"

"But this is touching, Severus," said Dumbledore seriously. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"

"For him?" shouted Snape. "Expecto Patronum!"

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

"After all this time?"

"Always," said Snape.


End file.
